


Moonstruck AU

by klammer



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Alive Claudia Stilinski, Alternate Universe - Human, Implied/Referenced Character Death, M/M, Moonstruck (1987) - Freeform, New York, Sad Stiles, Superstition
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2014-06-27
Updated: 2014-06-26
Packaged: 2018-02-06 09:49:42
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 4
Words: 1,823
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1853569
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/klammer/pseuds/klammer
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>“He’s a big baby. He’s not even here telling me you’re married; he’s a coward. I don’t like his face, Stiles. I don’t like his lips. When he smiles, I can’t see his teeth. He’s probably hiding something.”</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> I don't know if I'll ever finish this, but I thought I might post it anyway so it doesn't just sit there on my computer forever.

Stiles doesn’t love Peter.

  
Peter, although in denial about it, ultimately knows this. Hell, everyone in Brooklyn Heights knows that Stiles hasn’t loved anyone since his late wife. However, this doesn’t stop Peter Hale from taking Stiles’ hand across the candle-lit table at The Grand Ticino and proposing to him.

  
“Will you marry me?”

  
“What?”

  
“I said, will you marry me?”

  
“Peter, are you proposing marriage to me?”

  
“Yes?”

  
Stiles takes a deep breath, as he always does before talking about his wife, and says, “You know that my wife died. But what you don’t know, is that I think she and I were cursed with bad luck,” Stiles leans forward, confessing in a hushed tone, “right from the start. I didn’t even kneel down when I proposed to her. We were cursed.”

  
Peter quirks an eyebrow. “So? What do you want me to do?”

  
“Would you mind kneeling down?”

  
With a disgusted face, Peter says, “On the floor? This is a good suit.”

  
“I know, Peter, I helped you buy it. It came with two extra pairs of pants, but that isn’t what we’re talking about. When a man proposes marriage, he should kneel down.”

  
Slowly, almost mockingly, Peter slides out of his chair and onto his left knee. Surrounding tables begin to turn towards the couple as Peter begins, “Stiles, will you ma-”

  
“Where’s the ring?”

  
“The ring?”

  
“When you propose marriage to a man you should offer him a ring of engagement." Peter looks puzzled by this statement- as if the concept of an engagement ring never even crossed his mind. Sighing, Stiles compromises, with, "Just use your pinky ring.”

  
“But I like this ring.”

  
In response, Stiles offers Peter a cold look. Peter takes the pinky ring off of his finger and holds it out to Stiles. “Okay. Stiles Stilinski. On my knees. In front of everyone at this restaurant. Will you marry me?”

  
Meekly, Stiles accepts the ring, before saying, “Yes, Peter. I’ll be your husband.”

  
Peter stands up, brushes his knees, before sitting back down and calling for the check. The entire restaurant snaps out of whatever still-trance they were in and turns away from the couple.

  
The two don’t mention it again until later that night, when Stiles is driving Peter to the airport. 

  
“When will the wedding be?” Stiles asks, fake nonchalance and all.

  
“After my mother dies,” Peter says with a wave of his hand. “I give her two weeks. No more. Then I’ll be back.”

  
“We should set the date, avoid bad luck. How about one month. One month from today. I’ll take care of the whole thing, and all you have to do is show up,” Stiles proposes.

  
Peter nods, and Stiles stops talking. He feels a brief wave of nostalgia for his conversations with Heather, and the way that she never waved him off, only waved him on, and allowed him to babble freely as much as he wanted.

  
He remembers how after he proposed, all they could talk about was their future. His heart skips a beat for the children she was supposed to bear, and the happy family he was supposed to have.

  
Stiles clenches the steering wheel tighter, and tries not to look over at the man next to him, tries to pretend that the ring on his finger is from a different marriage, and that the silence in the passenger seat is because his wife is only sleeping. He pretends that he and Heather are on their way home, just in time to pay the babysitter and kiss their children goodnight.

  
He pretends as he helps Peter carry his suitcase into the airport, pretends that it means something to him as he watches Peter check his luggage.

  
He stands still as Peter walks towards the gate without turning back, stands as Peter’s flight is called over the loud-speaker of the airport. The old woman slouching next to him asks if he has someone he knows getting on the flight.

  
Stiles ignores the way he contemplates saying ‘no’, and nods positively.

  
“I put a curse on that plane,” explains the gray-haired lady, “my sister is on that flight, and thirty years ago she stole a man from me. Today she told me that she didn’t even love him. I put a curse on that plane, and it’s going to burst into flames and fall right over the ocean.”

  
Stiles, all in the name of pretend, responds, “I don’t believe in curses.” The words taste like Heather’s perfume and mixed with Peter’s body wash, both making bile rise in his throat.

  
The woman smiles and shrugs, “Neither do I,” she says, while walking away.


	2. Erica/Boyd

Erica Reyes and Vernon Boyd have been arguing for 14 minutes- the customers of the liquor shop have been counting.

“I’ve seen the way you look at her and it isn’t right!” Erica protests.

“How do I look at her?”

“Like-” Erica struggles to grasp the right words, “like a wolf.”

Boyd chuckles, “Like a wolf, huh? You’ve never seen a wolf in your life.”

“I’ve seen a wolf in everybody I’ve ever met, and I see a wolf in you.” 

“You know what I see in you, Erica?” Boyd asks, handing change to one of the last customers of the day.

“What?” She demands.

Boyd, smiling shyly, says, “The girl I married.”

Erica, caught off-guard in the way that she’s only ever felt around Boyd, feels blood rushing to her cheeks. She feels sixteen again, feels the rush of energy that came with her first kiss with Boyd- her first kiss with anyone. She walks over to the cash register and rests her head on her husband’s shoulder.


	3. Chapter 3

Stiles shuffles into the living room, car parked safely in the driveway along with Heather’s ghost. His father sleeps noisily, with his head thrown back and his mouth wide open.

“Dad?” Stiles taps his father’s shoulder, “Where’s Mom?”

The mention of his wife is enough to startle John Stilinski out of sleep, who glances sleepily at Stiles before saying, “She’s in bed.”

“Uh huh. And I guess you’re not feeling sleepy, huh?” Stiles asks, sitting himself down on the couch.

John shakes his head, “I don’t like sleeping in bed anymore. It’s too much like death.”

Instead of pressing the issue, Stiles leans back and massages his temples, trying to ease the headache that comes with years of guilt and regret. “So, I’m getting married,” Stiles says easily.

“Again? Stiles, you know what happened last time-”

“I know,” Stiles interrupts, before his dad can recount the details. Stiles hears the story enough from his subconscious. He falls asleep to the sound of tires against flesh and wakes up to the smell of plastic-coated hospitals and blood.

“I’m just saying, Stiles. Your mother and I have been married 42 years and there’s been no death. You were married two, and she gets hit by a bus. It’s bad luck,” John plucks his glasses from the bedside table so he can look at his son clearly. “Who’s the man?”

“Peter Hale,” Stiles waits no more than one second for the backlash of his statement.

“Peter Hale?” John groans, all traces of exhaustion erased from his wrinkled face. “He’s a big baby. He’s not even here telling me you’re married; he’s a coward. I don’t like his face, Stiles. I don’t like his lips. When he smiles, I can’t see his teeth. He’s probably hiding something.”

When Stiles finally manages to leave the living room, he’s glad his dad even agreed to come to the wedding at all. They walk side-by-side down the hall to wake Claudia.

“Mom,” Stiles shakes his mother awake with soft hands.

“Is somebody dead?” She mumbles, voice still laced with drowsiness.

“No, Clauds,” John starts, climbing into bed next to her. “Stiles is getting married.”

“Again? Stiles, you know-”

“I know, Mom. But it’s different this time. I don’t love him.”

Claudia’s half-smile still manages to hold a sense of pride as she says, “Good. When you love them, they drive you crazy because they know they can,” she motions to her husband, who is already in the midst of a snore, “But you like him a little, right?”

“Yeah, he’s okay. Dad doesn’t like him, though,” Stiles sits down near his mother’s legs as she shrugs.

“Well, your father isn’t the one getting married,” and then Claudia turns off the light, telling Stiles that the conversation is over. He walks back to his room and tries not to pity himself.


	4. Chapter 4

Stiles places his mother’s breakfast in front of her baggy eyes and sits down across from her silently. “So, will you live here? With your father and I?” She asks, picking up her fork. At Stiles’ confused look, she clarifies, “You and your husband.”

“No. You know Dad doesn’t like Peter,” Stiles reasoned. It wasn’t a lie, but it was an excuse. In reality, he didn’t want his mother to witness what would undoubtedly be an unhappy marriage.

“We’ll have to sell the house, then.”

Stiles looks up at his mother in surprise, “I got married before. You didn’t sell then.”

Claudia shrugs, picking at her eggs, “It was a different time, then. Grandma was still alive, Scott was still home and going to school, now he’s gone and moved to California,” You weren't depressed, she doesn’t say. Stiles felt an unsettling sickness pool inside his body at the mention of this time. When happiness was still a selection on the palette of emotions that he could feel, and it felt like his his life was turning up to be everything he wanted it to be.

The ringing phone shakes Stiles out of his own mind, and he stands up to retrieve it.

“Hello? Yeah, it’s Stiles. Peter?”

Peter’s voice can barely be heard through the phone line, but Stiles can always recognize Peter’s monotone vocal chords, “Stiles, it’s me. I’m calling you from the death bed of my mother.”

Stiles rolls his eyes, “Mmhmm. How was your flight?”

“It was uh- it was very nice. Stiles, my mother is slipping away. I’m waiting to tell her about the wedding when she is peaceful. I can’t talk long,” Peter’s crinkling voice speaks over the phone.

Stiles curses. “Just don’t wait until she’s dead,” he mumbles. It’s hard to feel sympathetic towards someone who has never shown you sympathy for your losses.

“Also, I need to ask a favor. Today, can you call my nephew, and invite him to the wedding? I haven’t spoken to him in five years, there’s been bad blood between us for too long now.”

Stiles writes down the number that Peter tells him to call, and hangs up without saying ‘I love you.’ He ignores the look his mother gives him.

“How is Mrs. Hale?” Claudia asks. She’s always been more capable of faux-sympathy than Stiles.

“She’s dying, but I could still hear her big mouth over the line.”


End file.
